Intra Vires
by pgrabia
Summary: Justice is in the works at PPTH but an important issue causes tension between House and Wilson. This is Pt.6 of "The Law of House" series based on short story "Beyond a Reasonable Doubt". Warning: H/W slash. Sexuality, violence and bad language. Rated M.


**Intra Vires**

Disclaimer: House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

A/N: This is part six of "The Law of House" series established on the short story "Beyond a Reasonable Doubt". Some sex, some fluff and some serious stuff—enjoy!

Please comment—it makes me very happy!!

**Warning**: H/W slash, relationship established.

**Rated M** for language, violence and sexuality. Discretion advised.

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_Def'n of Intra Vires:__ Of or referring to an action within an organization's or person's scope of authority._1

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Looking through the two way window at the line-up, Dr. Gregory House thought to himself what a waste of time this entire process was. The guy had been caught red-handed. Or, rather, the diagnostician had been red-handed after touching the deep slash wound he had received from his attacker's knife. He had managed to incapacitate the thug; Dr. Noddrick, one of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's resident bigots, had been immediately apprehended by Security personnel and handed over to the police. Having to pick his attacker out of a police line-up was redundant.

"Take your time, Doctor," a plain-clothes cop told House. "Do you see the man who attacked you in the line-up?"

The diagnostician scanned across the row of ten men holding numbered signs in front of their chests. Immediately he chose one.

"Number Three," he said with certainty, frowning. "Can I go now? There's a nap I'm late for."

The cop ignored the remark and spoke into an intercom panel on the wall, calling out the number. The man holding the 'three' sign took a step forward, glaring at the glass. He looked to be in his early thirties with a receding hairline of black and steely grey eyes. He was of average height with an athletic build.

"You're positive?" the cop confirmed. House rolled his eyes and nodded.

"That's him," the doctor answered with a sigh. The cop nodded without satisfaction and then directed another officer to have the line-up empty out and number three held. He then looked back to the victim, putting his hands on his hips.

"If we have any more questions we'll be in contact with you," House was told. "Otherwise, you'll be contacted by the District Attorney's Office regarding anything pertaining to a trial. Thank you again for you cooperation."

"Right," House responded and made his way out. He was stopped to sign a couple of forms before he was allowed to leave. As he limped to his car he scratched absently at the healing wound at his clavicle, careful not to interfere with the stitches; it itched like a sonofabitch. He had it easy compared to his lover, however. Dr. James Wilson was steadily improving but still suffering from the emergency surgery he had undergone to repair the internal injuries he had received from being attacked by Noddrick and another idiot, a first year resident named Killian.

If Wilson continued to improve at the rate he was the diagnostician would be driving him home by tomorrow evening. It would take a few weeks of recuperation before the oncologist would be able to return to work, and then only light duty for a while. House was looking forward to having him home; the truth was he had been spending the nights sleeping in the chair next to Wilson's hospital bed not just to be there as a comfort and help but also to be comforted. It was very lonely back at the Loft without him. A few kinks and sore muscles were preferable to being alone. Occasionally the diagnostician would give in to Wilson's nagging and head home for a few hours to stretch out in bed and sleep for a few hours, have a shower and change before returning back to work or sit at his lover's side.

House knew that he was probably driving Wilson a little batty with his constant vigil but the oncologist never complained for himself; his only objections pertained to the diagnostician's health and well-being. Sometimes it was annoying to be constantly mothered by the younger man, but the flip side to that was the knowledge that the older man was loved. That made all of the irritation more than worth it.

Once he returned to the hospital House had something important to discuss with Wilson, something he had been thinking over for days. It was something that would affect both of them so it was important to make certain that the younger doctor was on board with the idea. House had never in his life expected to be considering what he was, but every time he thought about it, it _felt _right. As someone who had spent the vast majority of his life trying to avoid emotions and live his life based on logic admitting that he was motivated by feelings was difficult for him to accept. Recovery from his addictions was leading him down unfamiliar and uncomfortable paths. His psychiatrist told him that he was healing; House simply felt confused.

Back at the hospital, the diagnostician headed up to his office to see how his team was doing with the new case they had been handed. The differential had been a disaster and at one point House had asked himself if this wasn't a fail and he was tripping on some kind of drug the entire time. Not a single one of his Fellows had a viable suggestion to make. He had sent Thirteen and Taub off to run a slew of tests on the patient and Chase and Foremen to search the patient's home and test for environmental agents that could be involved. This gave him a chance to get his head together before heading to Wilson's room. He was trying to prepare himself for whatever his lover's response might be to what he was about to propose.

Upon arrival he found Dr. James Wilson inclined to nearly sitting, watching television with the look in his eyes of someone who was sick and tired of watching TV but had absolutely nothing else to do. He was looking more and more like his old self every day. The color was returning to his skin, there was a healthy flush in his cheeks and his beautiful dark brown eyes had the twinkle that House—along with every nurse in the hospital—found so damned irresistible. Wilson's deep brown hair had been combed; it made the diagnostician want to run his fingers through it and mess it up all over again. When the younger man looked over at him and flashed that crooked smile that he only gave to him, House's knees became Jello and he nearly didn't make it to the chair.

"Finally!" the oncologist said with a sigh of relief. He turned the TV off with the remote control. "I was beginning to think that you had run off with another guy."

House smiled in amusement and planted a hot and sensuous kiss on his mouth, lingering long enough to stare into Wilson's eyes and comb his fingers through his hair. "You look incredible!" he breathed. "How are you feeling?"

"Really good, now," was the answer before the younger man placed his hand behind the diagnostician's head and pulled him back into a kiss that sent thrilling vibrations throughout the older man's body. Wilson's tongue teased his lover's lips, bringing a soft groan up from deep in House's throat and a greater one when the tongue actually plunged into his mouth. The kiss was incredibly passionate making both men hungry for so much more. House broke the kiss and moved his lips to Wilson's ear, breathing words that were most probably illegal in many small countries and Utah before sucking lightly on his lover's earlobe and playing with it with his tongue.

"Oh, fuck, Greg!" Wilson moaned, shivering with delight.

"I'd love to," the older man said, grinning as his lips placed wet kisses just below the other man's jaw line and his hands slid beneath the blankets, searching for the opening to the hospital gown.

Wilson laughed and grabbed at House's hands, "Jesus, you're already making my cock hard—I don't particularly want to be standing at attention when the nurse comes in with my lunch tray!"

"We can be finished before that," House argued, covering the oncologist's mouth with his own again and nearly shoving his tongue half-way down his throat. The older man himself was almost painfully erect. "The blinds are closed," he added as he came up for air, panting. "You're coming home tomorrow but I just can't wait… move over…."

"Okay," Wilson agreed between kisses, scooting over.

House had been right. Lunch was late arriving and no other interruptions ruined things for them. The diagnostician had been careful not to hurt his recovering mate and Wilson, as always, was mindful of the older man's damaged right thigh. It was a challenge on the narrow hospital bed but both were up for it. The only thing that may have caused the nurses at the nearby station a few raised eyebrows was the occasional moan, cuss word or name cried out in the throes of climax but thankfully no one came investigating; they were probably too afraid to.

Post-coitus, the men were curled around and tangled up in each other.

"I need to talk to you about something," House told Wilson quietly.

"Is this pillow talk?" Wilson teased, earning a scowl.

"Shut up, this is serious."

Wilson seemed to sense that his lover meant it. "Sorry. Look, let's talk…but do you think we could do it with you _off _of the bed? I hear the meal cart coming."

"Why?" House grumbled, edging towards the edge of the bed. "Are you ashamed of being seen in bed with me?"

"Ashamed of _you_, no," the oncologist told him honestly, "but being caught in a _hospital_ bed with you with your bare ass in the air, most definitely."

The diagnostician put on an offended front as he searched for his boxers and jeans. "I've been told I have a damn good ass."

"No argument there," Wilson told him. House caught him ogling his naked bottom half and hid a smile. "By the way, have I ever told you that you're a filthy old pervert?"

Unable to repress his grin any longer, House said as he pulled on his boxer shorts, "And you love it!"

"That goes without saying."

"So that makes you a dirty younger pervert," House stated, doing up his jeans just before the door slid open and Wilson's nurse entered carrying a tray of noxious smelling pseudo-food. She said nothing to either one of them, looking cautiously from House to Wilson and back to House with a nervous expression on her face. She set the tray down in front of Wilson and then scurried out like a mouse. The lovers exchanged looks and then burst out laughing.

"I guess they heard us!" the oncologist said when he breathed between laughs. "Ow, my stitches!"

"No shit, Sherlock!" the diagnostician said, dropping into the chair, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "Could it possibly have been when you practically screamed, 'Faster, Baby, _pleeease_'?"

Wilson glared at him indignantly. "I never said that!"

"I'll grab a wheelchair and we'll go ask them at the nursing station!" House challenged good-naturedly. "I bet you five hours of clinic duty that you did!"

The men laughed some more and then sobered. Wilson lifted the lid off of one of the items on his tray and stabbed at it tentatively with his fork. The diagnostician took this as his opportunity to broach the subject he had come to talk with him about.

"You know that kid I'm been treating?"

Wilson looked at him and nodded. "Yes…Kenny, isn't it? The one whose mother abused him?"

House nodded. He had no idea what to say, what the right words were. Perhaps if he caught Wilson up to date on what was happening with the boy, he would be able to find the words.

"His mother is facing criminal charges," he told the oncologist. "Even if she cops a plea she'll get jail time. CPS has told me that she'll never get him back."

"Good," the younger man said. He blew on his spoonful of soup before putting it in his mouth. "She should get life for what she's done."

House looked at his lover quizzically. "I thought you'd be all compassionate, telling me that she needs help, not prison!"

"Because I've always had a soft spot for grown adults who take out their frustration by beating their children!" Wilson retorted sarcastically. "I'm not a complete bleeding heart, you know."

"Yeah, but—" the older man said, taken aback. He was cut off mid-sentence.

"I also know how personally you've taken this case," the younger man told him, "I know you've spent literally hours just sitting with him. I know that for the past three days you've taken up reading to him at bedtime, you old softy."

Amazed, House shook his head and asked, "How do you know about--?"

"About the bedtime stories?" Wilson finished for him, smiling slightly. "I have my spies following every move you make. I'm really very controlling and possessive, you know."

House smirked and rolled his eyes, "It's always the quiet ones you who are the stalkers! Let me guess—Thirteen?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," Wilson teased, straight-faced. "I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you!"

"Then what Baby would go faster for you?" House retorted, making a face. "I spoil you."

The oncologist chuckled, shaking his head. He quickly became serious again. "What is it about Kenny that affects you so much?"

This had been one of the questions the diagnostician had been afraid of being asked. There were things that he had never told his lover about, things that were so deeply personal that he hadn't been able to tell even his closest of confidants. House knew that eventually he would end up having to talk to Wilson about the dark shadows of his past, but now that he found himself at that place he wasn't certain that he could go ahead with it.

Wilson pushed the food tray aside and touched the older man's chin gently, turning his face to face him, searching for his eyes.

"_When_ are you going to _trust_ me?" The intensity of Wilson's voice hurt House. "This is something you need to talk about and I won't use what you tell me to hurt you. In the past I know that hasn't always been true, but over the past two years I've changed…not as much as you, maybe, but I have. If you can't trust me…how is this going to work?"

A cynical remark occurred to the older man but he didn't have the heart to say it. Wilson was right…if he couldn't tell him, the man who was his best friend and lover, the truth then who could he tell? House hated taking chances that could bring pain, but he knew that by avoiding the possibility of great hurt most of his adult life he had also missed out on great joy along the way. He wished he could press pause on this conversation and call Nolan for advice but he couldn't; he was going to have to handle this one all on his own.

"Okay," House whispered. "But don't say anything until I'm done and if I don't want to answer any questions after, don't push me."

His lover nodded solemnly in agreement. This was a turning point in their relationship. Trust was going to be tested and that was a precious thing that if abused could end the relationship of a lifetime for both men. Blue eyes met brown and the moment that passed between them was just as intimate as the first time they made love...perhaps even more so.

House took a deep breath and then began, forcing himself to keep looking at Wilson. "You know how my relationship with my Dad was pretty much fucked up? Well, he wasn't just a hard ass who had to raise another man's son as his own. He…he…hurt me."

Wilson's eyes searched his face and House could tell that the younger man desperately wanted to ask him a question but was respecting his request and was remaining silent instead.

"He called it discipline," the diagnostician continued after a brief pause. His stomach was tried up in knots and he had to swallow hard to keep himself under control. "He said that he was going to teach me respect and how to be a man. Some of his methods were unconventional, though most of the time he'd strap me with his belt until my ass was raw and swollen. One time he forced me into a bathtub full of ice water as punishment. He held me in there for over an hour."

"Oh my god…!" Wilson whispered, his face contorting with anger and pain.

"I begged him to let me out. I begged him for his forgiveness. The cold hurt so bad…." House's voice trailed off as he tried to block the pain that came with the memories. "One time he made me stand at attention for twelve hours. I wasn't allowed to move, to make so much as a whimper or to use the bathroom. On a few occasions he would punish me by making me sleep in the yard. Once, when I was Kenny's age, he gave me this plastic bayonet rifle for my birthday. I hated it and when he was away from home I broke it and buried it in the backyard, hoping he wouldn't notice…he found it. My punishment was to dig my own grave of sorts--."

"_Grave_!" the oncologist echoed in disbelief. "What does that mean?"

House felt short of breath and a huge lump in his throat threatened to bring with it tears. He had to look away from his lover's intense gaze if he was going to be able to continue.

"He made me dig a hole big enough for me to lie in with my bare hands. Then he put me into the hole and began to bury me--."

"Greg, no!" Wilson was horrified. His voice held anger but it wasn't for the older man.

The diagnostician nodded, and continued, not having truly stopped. "He buried me entirely except for an air hole. I was blind and deaf. It was nighttime and cold. He left me out there like that all night. It began to rain and water would come in the hole and the dirt washed in with it and I could only breathe if I swallowed the mud." House couldn't fight the tears anymore. "Damnit. Damnit!"

Wilson grabbed him and pulled him out of his chair and into an embrace. House resisted at first but then relaxed and cried into the crook of his lover's neck. They remained like that for quite some time, Wilson holding him close, stroking his short graying hair and whispering soothingly in his ears.

"I didn't know. I'm so sorry…it's alright…shh, you're safe now, Greg. I won't let anyone hurt you like that again…I love you, Baby…I love you! Now I think I understand…so much pain….!"

House had never felt so loved in his entire life and he clung to the oncologist, not wanting to let go. Eventually his crying subsided and the diagnostician pulled back. Wilson still kept him close, however. He grabbed a napkin from his food tray and used it to gently dry the tears off of the older man's face.

Wilson had a revelation. "That's what your nightmare was our first night--Kenny was forced to eat dirt by his mother and it brought back memories of being buried and drinking mud! That's why that little boy is so important to you. How could I have missed that--?"

Shaking his head, House argued, "How could you have known anything, Jimmy?…You didn't know."

"But now I _do!_" the oncologist told him. "How did you hold this all in for so long? Greg, did your mother know that this was happening?"

He nodded in response. "She knew." He whispered and didn't want to discuss that any further than that. "Kenny didn't deserve what happened to him."

"Neither did you!" Wilson stressed. "Do you understand that? You could have been the worst behaved child and still didn't deserve to be hurt like that—by a parent, no less."

"I was a pain in the ass," the older man told him, shrugging, trying to find some kind of justification for what he had endured at his father's hands, but unable to convince Wilson, much less himself. He had been a difficult child and challenged his parent's authority just as much as he challenged authority now, but the discipline that he had received was in no way appropriate for the crime. Hours of therapy with Nolan had focused on this fact, trying to drive it home to him.

"You were a kid," Wilson insisted. "Just like Kenny."

House nodded. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and squelch any further possibility of tears returning. It was time to get to the point.

"Kenny has no family. I don't think it's even known who his father is. He's going to end up in a state facility until foster parents can be found for him, and right now he's at the bottom of a very long list for placement. I don't want that for him." The diagnostician took a deep breath and then held it as he said. "I want to foster him until a decent home can be found." There, it was said. He exhaled audibly. Now he had to wait for his partner's reaction.

The younger man stared at him in stunned silence, filling his cheeks with air before blowing it out slowly. His expression held no anger but he did seem uncertain.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Wilson asked carefully. "You're his doctor. Isn't this a matter of a conflict of interest?"

House rolled his eyes and glared. "You mean like donating a chunk of your liver to one of your cancer patients who used a pseudo-friendship and guilt to get you to do it?"

Wilson opened his mouth to argue but stopped short. He sighed silently and nodded grudgingly.

"Touché."

They were both silent for a moment and the anticipation was nearly driving the older man nuts.

"Look, if you don't want me to do it," House told his lover quietly, "just say so. We both have to agree to this."

"What do you know about raising a child?" Wilson asked him gently. "What do I know about it for that matter? It's not like adopting a puppy…there's a lot involved."

The diagnostician nodded, looking down at his lap. Wilson was giving his answer without giving his answer, something he tended to do when he didn't want to look like the bad guy. Heaven forbid Boy Wonder Oncologist should appear the bad guy. He set his jaw.

"Forget it," House said deeply, looking back up at the younger man. "You're right…it's a stupid idea." He rose to his feet. "Kenny deserves someone who knows what he's doing…."

"Greg, I didn't say that!" Wilson protested. "Come on, sit down!"

"Can't," House told him, needing to just get out of there, to be alone to think. "Gotta go check on my idiots, make certain they're not killing our new patient." He grabbed his cane and limped towards the door, sliding it open.

Wilson insisted, "We have to talk more about this!"

The diagnostician shook his head. "Can't. Got work to do. I'll…I'll see you later." Before Wilson could say anything more he left the room and slid the door shut—perhaps a little too firmly but not actually slamming it. He walked down the corridor a short distance and then stopped, taking a couple of steadying breaths. He really needed to talk to someone, but his next appointment with Nolan wasn't for another three days and he didn't know who else would be willing to sit with a misanthropic bastard and listen to him rant. He used to feel half-ways comfortable going to Cuddy, but he didn't feel that way anymore. Perhaps a walk would suffice. Before the infarction he would go for a bone-aching run to burn off the anger and hurt energy. That option was no longer an option. Neither was slipping back into using peace in a pill to numb himself for a while.

He headed for the elevators. Once he stepped off into the main lobby he limped towards the main doors. Through the glass he could see that a cold rain shower mixed with the odd confused snowflake was falling from the grey sky. House considered returning to his office to grab his jacket but then decided not to. A brisk walk would keep him warm enough and he certainly wasn't made of sugar so he wouldn't melt in the rain. He had to get out of the hospital for a while. He wasn't certain why that was so important but it was.

As he passed Cuddy's office he automatically glanced in to see if she was there—it was a habit developed over years of looking out for her when trying to avoid her. She was seated at her desk, looking very official and serious. She was speaking to three men seated in front of her, all in suits. He knew the identity of one of them but the other two he didn't recognize. House was tempted to stop and watch but he didn't know how long the meeting would take and he didn't have the patience to find out.

Passing individuals on their way in, he stepped out into the elements. The rain had washed away any remaining ice on the sidewalks, much to his relief. Ice and cripples didn't mix. Ignoring the cold droplets on the back of his neck he limped quickly down the sidewalk away from the institution. It didn't take long for the moisture to reach his skin through his clothes and bring goosebumps out, but it was a good feeling—it was distracting and that's exactly what he was looking for…something to take his mind off of his conversation with Wilson.

People he passed on the sidewalk were pulling their jackets closer to their bodies or huddling underneath the protection of their umbrellas. Most of them stared at him quizzically, some with derision. He imagined they were thinking to themselves, _What kind of idiot goes out on day like this without a jacket?_

"An idiot trying to avoid swiping a prescription of painkillers from the pharmacy, that's who," he muttered under his breath.

He knew where he was headed without really thinking about it…the picnic table he frequented in the running park not far from PPTH. He would torture himself by watching the able-bodied running fanatics jog past him, remembering how good it felt to be one of them: the hardness of the path as his running shoes hit, the vibration of that contact rising up both legs painlessly, a bit of a burn as his leg muscles were exerted, body erect, core engaged, arms pumping rhythmically, his lungs inflating and deflating with every light pant, a wonderful light burn as he pushed himself a little harder than usual, his heart rate elevated accordingly, blood pumping through every blood vessel, his body protesting a little to the exertion, sweat staining the front and back of his shirt where it made contact with his skin and beneath his armpits, droplets falling from his brow and down his face in salty rivulets, and finally the endorphin release and runner's high that eventually arrives, giving the needed second wind to continue. Just thinking about it brought a fond smile to his lips…but the pain in his ruined thigh reminded him that that's all it was and forever would be—a memory—bringing the frown to his brow and pulling the corners of his mouth down.

Once he reached the picnic table he sat down to rest his protesting leg a while. He felt the rain on the seat soak through his jeans and boxers. Now _that_ was uncomfortable! House forced himself to ignore it, however. So he looked like he pissed his pants, so what? It would give his team something to snicker about behind his back, his contribution to making their day just that much funnier.

He wasn't quite as angry at Wilson as he had been just a few minutes earlier. He acknowledged that it had been quite the revelation he had given the younger man and then a huge request immediately after. How did he expect him to act? Hey, Jimmy, we've just added sex to our intimate relationship, we've both been physically assaulted as a result and oh, by the way, I want to bring a five-year-old into the mix? It was surprising to the diagnostician that Wilson hadn't completely freaked out by the mere suggestion! House had known before he even took the idea to his partner that it was a huge responsibility to take on and the oncologist would need time to work through everything that could go wrong before coming to a final decision. So why had his lover's reaction surprised the older man so? Why was he left so out of sorts by Wilson's doubts? Did he expect him to just jump at the idea simply because he now understood how important it was to House to keep Kenny from becoming another him down the road?

Yes.

It was an unreasonable expectation, House knew. Fostering a child for what could turn out to be a very long time just because of a bad dream and a painful past of his own simply wasn't logical, and he had always prided himself on being able to overrule emotion and stick to the logical. What had changed? Why did it feel right in his heart and why couldn't he just mentally overrule that anymore?...Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. _Damn it, Nolan! What have you done to me? How is this better?_

"Me," House scoffed half-hearted, muttering, "a parental figure! I've completely lost my mind!"

"Not necessarily," a voice said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dr. Remy Hadley, jacket clad and umbrella covered, smiling crookedly at him. "Especially with Wilson around to be the adult in the home!"

"Ha, ha," House responded cynically, rolling his eyes and returning them to the running path in front of him. "I take it you're done running the tests I told you to do because you love working for me so much and wouldn't want to be looking for another job."

"Yup," she told him, sitting down next to him, careful not to bump him with the umbrella; she tried to lift it high enough to cover her boss as well.

"Don't bother," he told her. "It's like putting a condom on after having sex. So, what are the results?"

"Taub is still working on it. I came to tell you that our patient just exhibited a new symptom—disorientation."

"It's the fever," House told her off-hand without really thinking about it.

"Nope," she informed him, shaking her head. "Her fever is down a full degree. Not the fever."

House nodded, trying to think about what the new symptom meant in combination with the others but he couldn't focus. "You could have paged me or called me on my cell instead of following me out here in this weather in _those_ shoes." He nodded at the expensive suede flats she wore.

Realizing that she was busted, Thirteen shrugged. "I was coming from the lab when I saw you on your way out without your jacket and that look you get on your face when you're running away from something, so I grabbed my jacket and umbrella; I thought I'd satisfy my curiosity."

"How do you know what my facial expressions mean?" he grumped, refusing to look at her. He didn't want to be doing this—this conversation with her. His business was his business and he didn't appreciate intrusions, even though he knew her interest was more than simple curiosity. She was Wilson and his ally, it seemed, and that apparently came with her concern for the both of them. This was a dynamic with Thirteen he had never expected.

"I've known you for over two years now," Thirteen informed him. "Despite what people may think, you're not _that_ impossible to fathom—not if one takes the time to pay attention. And don't state the obvious by telling me this is none of my business. You're moodier the last couple of days than you have been in a long time."

"Didn't your father warn you against the troubles associated with nosiness?" House sniped, deflecting.

"Nope," she said again, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She was undeterred. "So are you going to tell me what's up or do I have to ask Wilson?"

House glared at her, feeling a mixture of irritation and…comfort? "Why do you care?"

Thirteen shook her head, looking away from him to follow two women as they ran past the picnic table. "I have no idea. Maybe it's some rare new disease going around. I think the cure could be answering the question instead of avoiding it."

"You're annoying."

"So I've been told," she agreed. "Or, you could try to run away from me, but I'm faster than you so that may not work. Come on…you know it will help to talk, even if that's the last thing in the world you want to do. Sometimes medicine tastes yucky."

The diagnostician sighed, shaking his head in frustration. It seemed that he wasn't going to win this argument so save time and a lot more aggravation he conceded.

"I talked to Wilson," he said slowly, refusing to look at her, "about how I want to…foster Kenny Baker."

Thirteen's face lit up with pleasant surprise. "That's so sweet!"

"Oh god," House mumbled, rolling his eyes, "I knew I shouldn't have told you."

She punched him playfully in the arm.

"Ouch," he said glumly, fighting a smile.

"So that's what you meant by being a parental figure," she said, nodding. "Don't tell anyone I said this because I'll deny it, but with the change I've seen in you over the past six months, I think you'd make a good parental figure."

"I'm a drug addict." The diagnostician reminded her, beginning to shiver.

"Recovering drug addict," she corrected him.

"You sound like Wilson," House said and then sighed. "It's a moot point anyway. He doesn't want to do it."

The younger doctor shook her head, brushing a long strand of brown hair off of her cheek and behind one ear. "He said that?"

"Not in so many words," the diagnostician answered, "but that was the general message."

Thirteen looked puzzled as she thought over what he said. The rain was coming down harder now and hit the asphalt running path like hundreds of little drumsticks against the membrane of a hand drum. She felt a bit chilled, and she was dressed appropriately—House looked like a drowned rat and she could see him shivering without complaint.

"That's odd," she commented, "because when I talked with him yesterday he seemed pleased to hear about the amount of time you were spending with Kenny."

"I knew it was you!" House announced, earning a questioning look; he didn't feel like explaining.

"Okay," Thirteen said, letting it pass. "Anyway, he sounded very positive about the bond you've formed with Kenny. What exactly were the words he used with you?"

House shrugged. He really didn't see the point of rehashing it and besides, he was really feeling the cold now. He rose to his feet, grabbed his cane and began limping back towards the hospital. Thirteen joined him, obviously not about to allow him to dodge the question.

Sighing, he recounted, "He started by asking me if I thought it was a good idea and used the whole conflict of interest argument. I reminded him that he wasn't one to be lecturing about conflict of interest. Then he asked me what I knew about raising a kid and said it was different from getting a dog."

Nodding, Thirteen took in the information. "And what else did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she echoed, perplexed.

The diagnostician shrugged and coughed. "I walked out of the room…I gave him some song and dance about having to get back to work. The truth is, I was getting angry and I really didn't want to argue with him about it."

"So he didn't actually say that he didn't want to foster Kenny with you," the younger doctor pointed out. "He just basically wanted to know how much thought you put into this. Right? You do see that, don't you?"

House stopped walking and looked at her, genuinely perplexed. What was the difference? The only reason Wilson had been questioning it was because he didn't want to do it but was too chicken to actually come out and say that. He told this to Thirteen.

"It's not the same thing at all," she told him, shaking her head. "You men…you just don't know how to read between the lines! You jumped to a conclusion that doesn't follow from the information. When I do that during a differential you call me an idiot, you idiot! Look, I can't speak for Wilson, but I think you gave up too quickly and just assumed the worst. Go back and talk to him…and don't run away this time. I can pretty much guarantee you that he loves you and won't just toss out something you feel this strongly about without at least thinking about it."

They continued walking towards the hospital again. It was silent between them for a few moments as House worked through what she had said. It was possible that she had a point. _No, damn_ _it!_ He told himself in frustration, _she does have a point! Go back and at least hear him out this time!_

He smirked at how ridiculous the situation he found himself in was. "I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from anyone, much less you," he told Thirteen with a shake of his head. "When was the last time you and Foreman actually dealt with the sexual tension you force the rest of us to tolerate?"

It was Thirteen's turn to smirk and shake her head. "Yeah, well, it's a lot easier to give out advice than to take your own and apply it."

House looked at her seriously. "Apply it," he told her. "Consider it an order from your boss—neither one of you is at your best as doctors when you can't even stand to be in the same room with each other."

The younger doctor gave him a sheepish grin and then did something she had never done before with him—she wrapped her right arm around his left one affectionately. House's first impulse was to pull away—that was always his first impulse when someone touched him, especially unexpectedly—but refrained at the last moment. There hadn't been many times in his life when someone would hold his hand or give him a hug just for the hell of it, and while he was very unaccustomed to it, he had to admit that it did feel good.

_Is this what having a friend is like?_ He asked himself. Besides Wilson, and maybe Cuddy, it had been a long time since he'd actually had one. He secretly hoped so, but he wasn't about to admit it.

"God, you have scrawny arms," he said to Thirteen sarcastically. "Have you and food ever been introduced?"

She sighed, shaking her head and saying nothing. House looked away from her because he couldn't help but smile and he didn't want her to see it.

Back at the hospital, Thirteen headed to the lab to see if Taub was finished with the results while House headed in the direction of the nearest supply room to grab some dry scrubs to put on instead of the soaked clothing he currently wore. Once he was dry and a little more comfortable he decided to check on Cuddy to find out what was up with the suits she had been meeting with. Through the glass door to her office he could see that she was alone talking on the phone. He walked into her office without knocking, as usual, and was about to say something obnoxious in greeting when the Dean of Medicine looked up at him in warning and put a finger to her lips.

House decided to be a good boy and remain quiet. He took a seat beside her desk and elevated his feet up, resting them on an open patient file. Cuddy glared at him with her pretty grayish blue eyes and slapped his feet in reproach; House didn't budge.

"Yes," she said into the phone in her most professional tone of voice, "Well you'll have to talk to our lawyer about that, but I can assure you that I _do_ have the legal authority to dismiss your client. The hospital's hiring policy was presented very clearly to him when he was hired—what? No, that doesn't matter. We kept our part of the contract by suspending him with pay until the police investigation was complete but the moment charges were laid the Professional conduct clause gave me the right---! Yes, well , have fun with that Mr. Dwyer. Good-day!" She hung up the phone hard. "You can stick your lawsuit up your ass, that's what!" she yelled at the phone.

House watched this with a look of amusement in his eyes and a twisted smirk on his face. "I don't think that's how you make friends and influence people," he told her sardonically.

Cuddy cast him her "look of death" and lifted his feet, pulling the file out from underneath them. "Get your feet off of my desk!" she snapped, annoyed.

"My leg hurts," he protested, playing the cripple card. "Elevation helps."

"So go elevate it on your own desk!" she told him. "I've got work to do! So do you, if I'm not mistaken. You currently have a case—go work it."

"I will as soon as you tell me who the suits were you had in here a while ago," House told her. "One of them was Killian, wasn't it?"

She nodded, sitting down behind her desk and turning to her computer. "It was. The other two were his lawyer and Noddrick's. They were here protesting the fact that I fired the both of them yesterday. They seem to think that nearly killing two of this hospital's department heads isn't deserving of dismissal. They're threatening to sue the hospital for wrongful dismissal and breach of contract."

"Do they have a leg to stand on?" the Chief of Diagnostic medicine asked her, pleased to hear that the two Nazis that had attacked both Wilson and him were no longer on the hospital's payroll.

"As I just finished telling one of them," Cuddy answered as she began typing into the computer, "they don't. They violated their contracts of employment, not me. Unprofessional conduct is unprofessional conduct and I had every legal right and obligation to fire them. The lawsuit is just a pressure tactic. They know it won't stand under scrutiny." She looked away from the monitor to House. "How is Wilson doing today, anyway? I meant to get down there to see him at lunch but those shysters showed up unexpectedly and through my entire schedule off."

"Good," House answered her. "He's looking a lot better. In fact, I'm taking him home tomorrow."

"I had heard that," she told him, nodding her head-full of dark brown hair. "That's awesome! Do you have arrangements made for his home care while you're at work?"

"We're all set," he assured her.

"So, how are the two of you doing?" Cuddy asked next, looking back at the computer monitor again. House watched her face. She was genuinely interested in knowing but he wasn't certain what her motive was for asking. He wanted to believe that it was innocent, but….

"We're good, Cuddy," he answered simply, with no sarcasm or spite. The Dean of Medicine looked at him again, meeting his gaze.

"Good," she said, smiling warmly. "I mean that."

House didn't say anything to that. Instead, he turned the question around on her.

"How are you and Lucas doing?"

"Good," she answered quickly, maybe a little too quickly, but her expression appeared genuine. "Everything seems to be working out fine."

House smiled slightly and then brought his feet down off of her desk. He clutched his cane in his right hand and stood up. "Good," he told her, "and I mean that, too."

She looked up at him with fond appreciation. "Thanks, House."

He nodded, always uncomfortable with the touchy-feely. "Gotta go talk to Wilson about adopting a puppy," he told her as he walked to the door.

"A puppy?" Cuddy asked him, raising an eyebrow.

The diagnostician smirked. "It's kinda weird to paper-train a boy, Cuddy." He opened the door and walked out, feeling her confused stare bore into his back as he did. He loved playing mind games.

* * *

1 Taken from Buisinessdictionary(dot)com.


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